Page 55
Molly couldn’t adequately explain it, but discussing the logistics of reorienting her in her own life was surprisingly comforting. It felt like so much progress compared to where they’d been when all this began.
“Alright,” she said. “Rain check.”
A dimple pierced the left side of Aster’s face when he smiled.
Molly crossed the space between them on an instinct, stopping with barely a foot to spare.
“Thank you,” she whispered. This whole thing could have been an argument. Or another roadblock. It could have caused more hurt. But it hadn’t.
Aster blinked, confusion manifested in furrowed brows. “You’re welcome,” he said, equally as quiet.
“I’ll see you tonight.”
Something morphed on his face, a familiar smirk growing.
“Tonight,” he agreed, before turning to leave with Bentley.
A moment later, Eli spoke from his spot in the chair Aster had assigned to him. “Well, I, for one, found that surprisingly arousing.”
Molly nearly choked on her laughter, utterly amazed at the turn her day had taken.
“I think we should go on a date,” Molly announced as she walked back into the apartment that evening.
She’d been thinking about it all afternoon: through lunch with Eli, through a little afternoon trawling downtown, and through the fifteen additional minutes she spent pacing the street outside the apartment before she finally gathered her courage.
The word irreparable had wormed its way into her consciousness, taking up residence in the vacancies where she’d once stored her hope in lieu of memories, waiting.
She didn’t want to wait anymore. Nor did she know if there was a point in waiting. With a potentially irreparable eventuality looming over her, Molly wasn’t sure if she needed patience so much as she needed forward momentum.
At her announcement, Aster sat ramrod straight on the blue brocade sofa, reading glasses slipping down his nose.
“Oh,” Molly said, distracted. “Are you reading The Count of Monte Cristo?”
Aster cycled through a number of postures as Molly approached and sat next to him.
“I am, but perhaps we should start with the first thing you—”
“Is that my copy? I found it on your bedside table—”
“It is, but again, I’d like to circle back to—”
“It’s my favorite, though you probably know that—”
“I do. Now, about this suggestion of a—”
“What are your favorite parts? I’m not surprised you’d like it too, it’s very—”
Aster shut the book with a small thud, halting her stream of questions. He held it out between them in what looked suspiciously like defense of his person.
“I don’t actually. I don’t like this book,” he said.
Molly’s mouth dropped open. “What?”
“I try a couple times a year. Thought I might try again today. But it’s so boring. Best we get this out of the way now.” He didn’t look remotely remorseful.
“But it’s my favorite book.” Molly’s shoulders sank. “And you hate it? That’s a very strong position to take.”
“I’d go so far as to say I vehemently loathe it,” he responded, an almost-smirk twitching at the edges of his mouth.
